


The Trick

by Quilljoy



Category: Long Walk - Stephen King
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 02:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilljoy/pseuds/Quilljoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It might have been about both of them, in the end, just he and Garraty, pushing each other further than they thought they could go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancinbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/gifts).



McVries stared at Garraty's feet.

They had lined up ever since Art got ticketed, sitting in the ground and exploding into the air as the sound of the gunshot that killed him. His head hung low. Garraty asked if he was dozing off, and McVries thought that maybe he was. But truly, he was only staring at Garraty's feet.

It was better than stare at his own, for sure. He still had his boots on, but he could feel each one of his fingers at each step he gave. They throbbed and twitched inside his shoes, and pain shot through them every time they hit the floor. McVries wished he could be distracted of it, wished he had the strength to talk to Garraty, or to be like Stebbins, who didn't look as bad as the rest of them. Wanted so badly to scream aloud.

(Fuck you, Stebbins, fuck you and that calm composure of yours. It's Garraty here who deserves to win, you're just a mom's boy with purple pants. God damn you. You shouldn't be allowed into the Walk in purple pants.)

The thought would've made him giggle once, that ripping smile that tore his face from one side to another in a mad laugh. Instead, he just shuddered. By his side, Garraty looked at him, well aware of his surroundings, and dismissed it politely, as if he really didn't think that McVries was mad. It was just the cold. Garraty was trembling too.

Strength faded from him. His whole being faded at each walked mile and he couldn't do a thing about it.

McVries believed that the only distraction from the cramps was the hot air tightening his chest. He thought he couldn't breathe by the end of the first day. Bullshit. It had felt like a tickle by the end of the first day, the warmth of may's sun prickling his skin lightly, entering through his mouth and drying everything inside him. It took him quite an infinity - and they were walking for a seemingly eternity already - but McVries discovered it wasn't the sun after all, it was all that dust. Sometimes, McVries thought the dust did come from the road and permeated him. Sometimes, he believed the dust was born from his body, of the little creaks and creases in his lips, the tongue that kept itself dry, no matter how much water he drank. The downpours of rain just made his belief stronger, because his bones were soaked, yet the chill didn't kept the painfully hot ache from his chest.

Garraty was so much worse.

It wasn't any kind of comfort, but it was fascinating nonetheless. McVries didn't feel quite human at that moment, so there was no guilt in being fascinated by Garraty. Well, not Garraty, Garraty had fascinated him ever since the beginning of the road. Garraty, who saved his life and who thought he wanted to touch him - god dammit, wouldn't they all go for it right now, one last screw before buying their ticket square to the morgue? No, it wasn't Garraty at all, but his feet.

He had lost his shoes miles down the road. McVries had watched intently as the soles had flapped, making a sticky sound that Garraty probably thought to be inherent to his being, just like his breathing or his heartbeats. His soles had worn out quickly, rolling down the pavement, and Garraty had given up on the small comfort of any covering in favor of not losing speed or getting any more cramps. His thick cotton socks were no more white than they were during the first day. McVries had noticed that, at first, Garraty's swollen thumb popped out of a large hole, an anomaly in the otherwise dirty white fabric. It was already getting too red and brown, caked by blood and by mud and what else. The hole soon grew larger, opening itself to Garraty's foot like a vortex and disappearing.

McVries couldn't help but stare intently at the result. There was something oddly sexual at the way Garraty's naked feet hit the ground. If he tried hard enough, he could see the muscles of his legs being overworked, extending and compressing, sinuously peeking at him through the fabric of Garraty's pants. The trousers ended just below his knees, and McVries could see bones hiding under a thin tissue of skin on his ankles.

(Maybe it wasn't about getting relief at all, or impending death. Maybe it wasn't even about a girl who slashed his face open. It might have been about both of them, in the end, just he and Garraty, pushing each other further than they thought they could go and-)

And _then_ McVries realized what he had been staring at all along. It didn't matter that he was the strongest of the three, or that Stebbins looked unfazed. Garraty had something none of them had.

There was a hint beneath them all, one that surpassed "not wearing sneakers" and "saving your breath".

The trick was - McVries forced himself to remember - the trick was to keep walking.

The trick was to keep walking, but McVries smiled at Garraty and sat.


End file.
